Once again, let me thank everyone for reading (and a special thanks to those who review!), I'm glad y'all are enjoying the story so far. To answer a few comments: No, my Dad doesn't watch many TV shows that feature the FBI, the 'Hollywoodization' makes him crazy. His own career has had its share of excitement (of course, we're talking about a 35 year span). He worked on the Mafia detail, was hired as a hitman and once stopped a bank robbery suspect from escaping by ramming his car (his supervisor was riding with him at the time - the man was a little shaken.) Also, no Pick or Tinker in this story - couldn't find a plausible excuse to send them to California and honestly, it's hard enough juggling characters from two shows. My next story, however...

Chapter 10

Friday,

Pasadena Medical Center

Pasadena, California

1123 Local

Don strode purposefully into the Med Center, intent upon finding his brother. This day was rapidly going to hell. It had started off well enough. He'd gotten Mac to the hospital in good time and taken a few minutes to check on Rabb. The Commander had been awake, much to Mac's obvious relief, so he'd kept it short, promising to come back later in the day to hear what Rabb had to say about the shooting. That had been the high point. When he got to the office, Merrick had called him in to find out how the hell he had managed to get one of his JAG officers shot in the short time they'd been here. There was nothing Don could say. It was useless to point out that the SAC was being unreasonable, that his assignment was to work with the JAG officers, not guard them and that everyone had been off the clock when the shooting occurred. He'd taken the rebuke in silence and then gone to find David to see what he had learned about the shooting.

It wasn't much but it was a start. From the witnesses' descriptions, it had been gangbangers from Diablos Sangre. One of the wounded might have been the possible target - a former gang member of the J Street Trinity. Don wasn't sure about it. For one thing, the Diablos Sangre had been way out of their territory and according to LAPD's gang unit, there hadn't been any bad blood between the Diablos and JST - until now. He'd asked David to keep checking into it and to see if he could round up the forensic report to forward to Charlie's office. After that, Don had spent a rather terse half hour on the phone with an irate Marine General. After making clear his displeasure that his JAG officers weren't going to be returned in the same pristine condition that they had started out in, Cresswell had switched gears and asked Don to keep a careful eye on the Colonel. The General didn't believe in coincidences where Rabb and MacKenzie were concerned. The two had managed to make enough enemies over the years to populate a small country. Don tried suggesting that Cresswell recall both officers and had received a growled 'orders are orders' in reply. He'd promised to do what he could and they'd left it at that.

Don had been on the phone to his forensic accountants about the supply records when his other line had gone off. He almost let it go to voice mail when he saw the CalSci number. He didn't think it was Charlie. His brother inevitably called him on his cell. That left Larry or Amita. Since Amita rarely had any reason to talk to him, he was pretty sure it was Larry. The physicist occasionally called Don when he couldn't locate Charlie. As much as Don liked the brilliantly odd little man, he wasn't really in the mood for Larry's eclectic conversational style. On the other hand, Charlie had that early class this morning at CalSci so there was no reason for Larry not to be able to find his brother. A small knot of worry began to gnaw at him and he'd hurriedly cut short his conversation with the accountants. Answering the other line had confirmed his worst nightmare, Charlie had been shot by an unknown gunman. He barely heard Larry's hasty reassurances that the wound had appeared minor, that Charlie's vital signs had been strong and that he'd been conscious and coherent when he'd left in the ambulance. Once he'd learned which hospital had his brother, he'd simply hung up even though the physics professor had still been speaking. It wasn't until he reached his SUV that he realized David had followed him. He didn't argue when Sinclair insisted on driving. David dropped him at the entrance to the ER and left to park the truck. He strode in, passing through the crowded waiting area, his focus upon the reception desk.

"Don!"

He spun around to see Amita coming towards him. Don hurried forward, "Where is he? What happened?"

"This way," Amita turned down a corridor. She looked over at Don, "He's going to be fine. No vital organs were hit that they can tell but they're going to take him into surgery for a laparoscopy to make sure."

Don felt a little of the tension ease. He frowned, "Do you know what happened?"

Amita took a deep breath, "I'm not really sure. I stopped by his classroom to see if he was ready to go over Larry's equations and he was talking to a student. I thought he was anyway. When Charlie heard me, he shoved the kid down and started running for the door, yelling at me to get out - that the guy had a gun." She paused for a moment to wrap her arms around herself. "He'd just made it to the doorway when I heard the shots. He started sliding when he reached the tile and I grabbed his arm to keep him from falling. Then we ran up the hallway and ducked into an alcove." Her voice developed a slight hitch, "I didn't know he'd been hit."

Don stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, "Amita, I didn't realize - come here." He opened up his arms and, after a slight hesitation, she stepped into his embrace. It only took a few seconds for her shoulders to begin shaking. Don held on, figuring this was probably the first time she'd let herself go since it happened. Although she and Charlie weren't officially dating yet, Don figured it was just a matter of time. It hadn't been an option while Charlie had been her thesis advisor. Now that she had her doctorate and was pursuing a second in another field, they were free to start a relationship - providing the two of them could get off the dime. For a couple of geniuses, they could be remarkably obtuse. After a few minutes, Don felt her start to pull away and loosened his grip, "You gonna be okay?"

Amita nodded as she wiped her face, "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. Charlie's going to fine."

Don smiled at her, "Of course he is, and then you can yell at him for scaring a couple of years off your life - right after I get my turn at him."

She shook her head with a watery chuckle, "Come on, he's down this way."

They walked a little farther down the corridor and then Amita turned into a room. Don was right beside her. He was overwhelmingly relieved to see his brother awake and propped up in the bed, wearing a ridiculously thin hospital gown and sporting an IV in one arm. Charlie smiled at them, "Hey." His voice sounded slightly slurred.

"Hey yourself," Don smiled back, walking up to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, great," Charlie lifted the hand with the IV, "Good stuff."

"I'll bet," Don grinned and then grew more serious, "What happened, Charlie?"

Charlie shook his head and then blinked a couple of times, "Whoa." He looked at Don, "Dizzy." He swiveled his head over to look at Amita and smiled widely, "You're so beautiful." She blushed furiously and ducked her head. Charlie turned back to his brother and whispered loudly, "Smart, too. About everything. Smarter than me."

"You got that right," Don agreed amicably. "Charlie, I need you to focus for a minute. What happened at CalSci?"

His brother's brow furrowed, "Weird. He wanted to know about my consulting." Charlie closed his eyes briefly, "I'm not supposed to talk about it and I wouldn't." He chuckled mirthlessly, "I couldn't 'cos there wasn't anything." He tilted towards Don who hurriedly put a hand out, "There's no math yet. I haven't done anything on the case and he wanted to shoot me over it. Bet he'll feel dumb when you catch him." He leaned back into the pillows, mumbling, "Stupid. No math."

The sound of hurried footsteps had Don tensing as he turned towards the door, his hand automatically moving to his sidearm. He relaxed at the sight of his father appearing in the doorway. Charlie squinted uncertainly at the approaching figure until Alan made it to the side of the bed and then smiled, "Hey Dad."

"Charlie," Alan relaxed much as Don had, "What's going on? You know you scared the life out of me?"

Charlie blinked owlishly at his father before his expression turned sorrowful, "Sorry. Shoulda run faster."

"It's alright, Charlie," Alan soothed, glancing at Don. "I was just worried. I know it's not your fault."

A nurse and an orderly walked in just then. She looked at Don, Amita and Alan, "It's time to take Mr. Eppes up to surgery. You can go to the surgical waiting room on the second floor if you'd like. We should be able to update you fairly soon. This isn't a long procedure." She smiled at Charlie, "Ready to go, Mr. Eppes?"

He smiled back, "Sure. Call me Charlie."

"Charlie, it is." She gestured to the orderly, "Let's get this show on the road."

Don, Alan and Amita watched as they rolled Charlie out of the room and then left to find the waiting room. Alan, after a quick glance at Amita, draped a comforting arm around her shoulders as they walked. They met David waiting anxiously in the hallway. He looked from Alan to Don, "How is he?"

"He's going to be okay," Don assured Sinclair. "They're checking to confirm that nothing vital was hit. We're heading up to the waiting room on the second floor. The nurse said it wouldn't take long. Why don't you call Megan and Colby, let them know, and have them head over to CalSci?" He looked over at Amita, "I know you've probably already talked to the police, but I'd like to interview you, too."

She nodded with a bit of a shrug, "I don't know if there's much more that I can tell you but, sure."

Don frowned slightly in thought, "You said you thought this guy was a student?" Amita nodded again. He looked over at David, "Make sure Megan stops by CalSci's Admin to get a class list."

David glanced at his watch, "How about I go check with police and see what they have so far? You'll probably be an hour or so, right?"

"Yeah, okay, thanks David." Don watched as the younger man turned and hurried back down the hallway. Something seemed a little off with David and Don shrugged inwardly. It was probably shock that someone would attack Charlie. He was feeling a little off himself.

"Ready, Donnie?"

Alan's voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked over at his father, "Sure, let's go."

Friday,

White Memorial Medical Center

Los Angeles, CA

1140 Local

Harm was still working on his salad as Mac popped the last french fry into her mouth and then wiped her hands on a napkin. He raised an eyebrow at her, "Have we reached our quota of dead animal and grease for today?"

Mac arched an eyebrow right back, "WE haven't reached anything. I, however, am looking forward to a nice juicy steak tonight, topped off with some sinfully rich and delicious dessert, Jello Boy."

"That's not fair," Harm grumbled at the thought of the ubiquitous hospital jello that would making its appearance with his evening meal.

"Not at all," Mac agreed, totally unsympathetic. She'd had more than her share over the years, usually accompanied by Harm's wisecracks. "Suck it up, Navy, and take your gelatin like a man."

Frank and Trish smiled at each other and wisely kept out of it. The banter between their son and his strong-willed Marine was music to their ears. They had fretted and suffered right along with Harm when Mac's stubborn attempt to 'save' him from a childless marriage threatened to destroy the happiness of both. It seemed the relationship was back on track and now Trish was biding her time, waiting for an opportunity to renew a discussion about wedding dates with Mac. There had been a number of disappointed friends when the original wedding day had been cancelled.

The phone rang, stopping the verbal jello-slinging. Mac was closest and picked it up, "Lt. Colonel MacKenzie... oh, hi Allan, what can I... what?!... when?... is he...? ... thank god ... is Don there? ... good ... uh-huh ... where are you? ... don't be silly, I'll see you soon, okay? ... yes ... bye." She hung up and stared at the phone, clearly shocked by what she had heard.

Harm glanced at his parents and then looked at Mac in concern. He cleared his throat softly, "Mac? - Honey? What's wrong?"

She turned wide eyes to him, "That was Alan Eppes." Mac glanced at Frank and Trish, "He's Don and Charlie's father." She looked back at Harm, "Charlie's been shot."

Harm stared at her, his mouth open in surprise, "What?! How could that have happened? Is he okay?" He glanced over at his parents who were looking bewildered. "Don Eppes is the FBI agent we're working with and his younger brother, Charlie, is a math professor at CalSci and a part-time consultant for the Bureau." He turned his attention back to his fiancee, "Mac?"

She seemed to give herself a little shake, "He's alive. It happened at CalSci - one of his students. Alan's on his way to the Pasadena Medical Center. Don's already there."

Harm frowned, "What, someone didn't like their grades? Did they catch the guy?"

Mac gave a half-hearted shrug, "I don't know. Alan didn't go into a lot of detail. He sounded pretty rattled." She looked aimlessly around the room for a moment, "I need to get over there."

Harm shook his head, "You mean WE need to get over there." He moved the salad dish to the night stand so he could get the tray out of his way.

That got the other three's attention quickly. Mac reacted first, "Oh no, just forget that. You're not supposed to be moving around yet."

"Harmon Rabb, don't you dare try getting out of that bed!" Trish glared at him as she instantly swung into full Mom mode.

"That's not a good idea, Harm," Frank threw in his two cents' worth, too.

He glared back at the three, "I'm fine. It doesn't hurt much. I'm just a little stiff. I don't need to be lying around while people are shooting at members of our team."

Mac's eyes widened in disbelief and then narrowed dangerously, "'Fine'? 'A little stiff'? That's what you call the results of the last twenty-four hours?!" She advanced slowly on the bed. Harm stoically held his ground although the whites of his eyes were becoming a little more pronounced. An angry Mac wasn't something to trifle with - hell, an angry Mac could be packaged and used as a substitute for C-4.

She stood by the side of the bed, arms folded tightly despite the ache it caused her wrist. It was better than reaching out and throttling this stubborn man. "You are staying in that bed until the doctor says you can get up. I will find out about Charlie and talk to Don and then report back to you." Her entire demeanor shifted suddenly, "Unless you don't trust me enough to find out what's going on."

"What?" Harm was startled out of his annoyance, "Mac, Sarah, come on, you know I trust you. This isn't about... " He stopped and let his gaze drop to the bed, "Fine, okay. Just don't take too long, will you?" He looked back up and fixed her with a stare, "You know how frustrating it is to be out of the loop." Truthfully, he wasn't sure how far he would have gotten before he wound up with his face planted on the floor. He'd still been determined to try, regardless of the consequences, until Mac had put a halt to his bullheadedness with one statement. He hadn't considered the underlying message he was sending with his insistence of being physically present at the scene.

"Of course I know," Mac reached out to caress the side of his face and then leaned forward for a quick kiss. "I'll let you know what's going on as quickly as I can." She straightened up and turned towards the Burnetts, "Frank, Trish, I'm sorry... "

Frank stood up. He and Trish had been quietly conferring, "Don't be, we understand." He glanced back down at his wife, "Trish is going to stay here with Harm and I'm going to take you to the Pasadena Medical Center." His tone brooked no arguments and Mac nodded gratefully. The government car was still at the hotel and she had been considering calling a cab. This would be much easier and Frank was always a pillar of support.

Friday,

Santa Rosa Apartment Complex

Venice, CA

1145 Local

There was a resounding crack and Jabbar el Naser landed on the floor, clutching the side of his head. He looked up with frightened eyes at the man who had struck him, "Please, I thought it was what you wanted."

"Wanted? Wanted!" The man lashed out with a foot, catching Jabbar in the side. He leaned down, "Do you take me for a fool?"

"N- no, but you said you were worried by this man. I thought if we could find out what he knew..." Naser wheezed.

"You thought? You goat-brained imbecile! You did not think at all!" He pulled back his foot again and then stopped as the young man on the floor cringed and curled into a ball. Reaching down, he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Jabbar's head up, "Do you have any idea what you done?" Disgusted by the abject fear staring back at him, he slammed Naser's head into the floor and stood up, ignoring the pitiful yelp of pain.

Angry, frustrated and more than a little worried, he began to pace back and forth. Thanks to this mindless idiot, what had been a minor problem had just escalated into a major disaster. If he were truly honest with himself, the blame would be his own. He should have been more careful about alerting the others.

It had been a surprise when the FBI had shown up at Rashid's. He had expected the local police, not the federal. That had been a mistake on his part for not anticipating the hate crime angle. It was a fact of which he was sure his employer was well aware. Federal agents tended to look longer and harder at certain crimes, something they didn't need at this particular time. Finding out that the man accompanying the agent was a consultant with a reputation for genius had added to the tension. Still, he could be glib when he needed to be and he'd assured his leader that there was no real need to worry. There was nothing to connect his people to Akil's death. It had only been through sheer bad luck that the young Saudi had stumbled across the group's existence and that had been rectified. One loose end had been Akil's infidel whore and he had personally overseen that interrogation early this morning. In the end, she had told him everything and now she was residing in a landfill with the rest of the garbage.

Although nothing had been said on the subject, he knew the other loose end was McKlellan. That pompous and trice cursed jackass was out of his reach for the time being. He would have to bide his time and wait for an opportunity. Considering the man's arrogance, it shouldn't be too long before the petty officer made a mistake and gave his people an opening. In the meantime, he'd have to trust that McKlellan would keep his mouth shut. The man had a strong survival instinct. He had to know that it would be in his best interests to keep quiet about his black market dealings.

It would be annoying but not impossible to establish a new connection within the military. It wouldn't jeopardize their agenda, a point he'd be sure to make should his employer bring it up. What had jeopardized everything they had worked for was still lying on the floor, mewling for forgiveness. He'd sworn to himself to rectify that mistake also. By all that was holy, whatever had possessed that pathetic idiot to attempt to kidnap a world famous academic who was also the brother of a FBI agent?! And, when the professor had unexpectedly resisted, had shot but not killed the man. What had been a routine investigation would now have a blood debt attached to it. Special Agent Eppes possessed a formidable reputation and now he had vengeance to goad him on. The only way to stop him would be to kill him and that would bring even more unwanted attention.

Speaking of which, he strode into the small kitchenette. Quietly, he opened drawers until he located the cooking utensils. Rummaging through, he smiled when he found the meat skewer. Sliding it up his sleeve, he walked back into the living room and found that Naser had managed to pull himself together enough to sit up. Gesturing sharply, he barked, "Get up." Naser scrambled quickly to his feet and stood uncertainly, a hand pressed to his side. The man pointed towards the laptop sitting on dining table, "I want you to look up FBI Special Agent Donald Eppes." Jabbar hesitated briefly and then scurried forward, blatantly relieved at the chance to redeem himself. The man waited a few minutes until Naser was immersed in his search, then walked silently up behind the younger man, sliding the meat skewer out. Moving suddenly, he grabbed Naser's forehead and shoved the skewer into the base of his skull.

Drawing it back out, he contemplated the body for a moment and then turned to the kitchen. American TV, with its plethora of crime shows featuring forensics, had been educational. While he strongly doubted that such miraculous infallibility was true in real life, it would be an interesting challenge to disguise this murder. Placing the skewer in the sink, he went to the stove. Blowing out the pilot lights, he turned on the gas on both the stove and the oven. Going to the refrigerator, he opened it up and inspected the contents. Pulling out various vegetables, he opened up the freezer next and found a package of chicken. That would do. Throwing the chicken into the sink and turning on the hot water, he calmly began cutting up the onion, pepper and tomatoes. Going to the utensil drawer, he pulled out another skewer. Sliding bits of vegetables onto both skewers, he checked the condition of the chicken. The hot water was beginning to thaw it out. Going back to the refrigerator, he pulled out a gallon container of lemonade. It was nearly full.

Carrying the lemonade to the dining table, he put it down and then went rummaging through more drawers. Finding a spool of thread, he returned to the lemonade and tied one end of the thread to the handle. Unrolling it, he moved to a lamp sitting on the end table. Positioning the lamp so that it teetered on the edge, he secured the other end of the thread to it, switched it on and stepped back to observe his handiwork. The weight of the gallon container kept the lamp in place. After a moment's thought, he took off the lampshade and laid it on the floor near where the lamp would land. Going back to the kitchen, he found the chicken sufficiently thawed to hack off some pieces to complete his 'meal'. Putting them on a plate, he placed it in the oven and closed the door. Turning next to the stovetop, he placed a pot of water on one of the burners. Rewrapping the remainder of the chicken, he threw it back in the freezer and surveyed the kitchen. The stage was set.

Returning to the dining table, he reached around the body and typed in a website that contained pornographic material. Smiling to himself, he slid the laptop back far enough that he could rest Jabbar's arms on the table and drape his hands on the keyboard. He didn't expect the computer to survive the explosion but if it did, no one would be suspicious about the content. Lifting his head, he sniffed the air. The smell of gas was growing stronger, it was time for the final detail before he left. Pulling a pocketknife out, he punched several small slits in the bottom of the lemonade. Liquid began dripping out in a steady fashion. When the gallon container became too light, the lamp would crash to the floor and the electrical flash from the breaking bulb would set off the gas. With luck, there would be nothing but charred remains for the Americans to look at.

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